


The Pain of Draco Malfoy | Drarry

by ConstantlyConfusedAlien



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Draco Malfoy & Harry Potter Friendship, Draco gets hurt, Draco has Daddy Issues, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, Evil Parents, F/F, F/M, Good Draco Malfoy, Harry lives with Sirius, Hurt Draco Malfoy, Hurt Harry Potter, I Wrote This Instead of Sleeping, M/M, Pardoned Sirius, Slow Burn, Slow To Update, Swearing, This Is A Disaster, sirius is alive because his death killed me, so sorry in advance, trigger warning, wolfstar is a thing
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-03-31
Packaged: 2019-10-19 21:52:11
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 15,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17609699
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConstantlyConfusedAlien/pseuds/ConstantlyConfusedAlien
Summary: Its a new year, and for Draco, that means he can finally be free of his parents and away from their harmful ways. However, with 'Saint Potter' around and his inclination of finding out about things no-one should know, it doesn't take long before Harry tries to help.~discontinued as of current time~





	1. Returning to his Real Home

**Author's Note:**

> All ownership of Harry Potter and it's character's goes to J.K. Rowling.
> 
> This may be triggering to some readers | please look after yourself

He was finally out of the mansion that was meant to be his home, however, he had never truly seen it as such. It had become a prison that he was locked inside of with those he despised the most. His mother and father. 

Hogwarts, while he may make people believe he hated it, was an escape that he dreaded leaving every time he had to go home for break. And a place he found himself constantly wishing to return to during those miserable breaks where his parent’s cruelty intensified. 

Sitting on the Hogwarts Express and watching as he left his father and mother behind, it was as if an immense weight had lifted off his shoulders. The new school year had finally started, and it had not seemed to come quick enough. With these thoughts came dread and guilt. While he may be escaping the house and getting away from his father, his mother, no matter how terribly she treated him, was still trapped there.  
He remembered when Narcissa was like how any other normal mother should be, regardless if there was magic involved. She was bright, happy and so proud of him with everything he did. He could fail a test and she would be happy that he had at least tried, for he always did, and she knew that. 

Well, she _had_ known. Now, his mother was nothing like how she used to be, she was stripped down layer by layer by his father until all that was left was a ghost of her old self. He had to watch as she cared less, and the flowers she had once adored grew out of control and spilled out of the garden beds. A state that would have had her crying in outrage before spending a full day trimming and weeding them to utter perfection. 

She had then changed again, also by his father’s doing. She became meaner, and selfish and only noticed, recognized or cared about her son when he had done something to _‘disgrace their pure and perfect reputation’_. Every day he was constantly reminded of how worthless and pathetic he was. What his mother didn’t know was she didn’t have to repeat it, he had learnt just how truly terrible he was a long time ago.  
It had been a few days since his father’s anger slipped, and while the pain had been unbearable, he had not expected it to still be this bad. He ached everywhere, and it was a surprise his friends surrounding him in the train compartment hadn’t asked about the bruises that were so obviously showing above his collar. Though, in a way he expected them to not care and was grateful, because if they had, there would be questions. Questions he wouldn’t be able to answer. 

The first few days had been terrible, the pain in his ribs had made it nearly impossible for him to breath, it had since faded slightly but wouldn’t completely for a long time. His father had broken his ribs, but no matter how bad it might feel now, he knew that he would feel worse if he told anyone. 

He couldn’t heal his broken bones, but he could heal the tenderness of the more noticeable bruises. He had tried to heal himself once, and he had ended up worse than how he had started. According to his father, healing his wounds was just another thing that was so terribly wrong with Draco Malfoy. At the Manor, when it was just his family, he was not allowed to heal himself, and neither could any of the house elves. The shameful act of having to be disciplined in the first place was to be on display for his parents to see. 

He knew no-one else around him went through things like this, his home life was far from normal, and even though it sounded terrible, he wished someone else was going through the same thing. He wanted to be able to relate to someone and be able to tell them about what happened, and have them say they understood, and _actually_ understand. Even though he had felt alone nearly all his life, he still hated it.  
His friends laughed around him, joking and talking and being normal. They were happy, because of it, a part of him was jealous and wanted them to just _shut the hell up_.

He shifted in his seat and with the movement, the pain in his ribs spiked up again, he only let out a small wince, which was so different and opposed to the true burning pain he felt. He had years to practice suppressing his pain and suffering, and if that thought alone didn’t make him sad, nothing did. But it did make him sad, and somehow his dark and gloomy mood stooped down to another level of despair and emptiness. 

He internally sighed as the laughter echoed around the compartment of the train, Pansy Parkinson’s being the loudest. He did not know what they were laughing about and had only briefly glanced at them when they had sat down around him. Pansy had frowned at his appearance, which quite frankly, was a perfect costume for death. His grey eyes were empty and beneath them were dark circles that clearly told everyone around him that he doesn’t sleep, or at least hadn’t in days, both being true. His skin had gone pale, paler than usual, and any bit of extra weight he may have thought he had was long gone. 

Pansy had opened her mouth after sitting down, and he knew that she was going to ask a million questions. He had braced himself, thinking of a hundred excuses to make up for how shit he looked, when Crabbe and Goyle had started a conversation about what they had done over the break, and she was forced to take part in. He had never thanked them or been truly grateful for their presence before, but at that moment he had been.

The whole train ride he had spent staring out the window watching the green of the forest and grey of the sky whiz past, ignoring reality and letting his mind wander to anything that didn’t involve him. He found himself ‘wasting time’, as his mother had called it, which quite frankly he did more than anything else. 

“Did you hear what I said, Draco?” 

He was brought back to reality, something he didn’t want to do, by Pansy. Tearing his gaze away from the window he looked around at his friends. 

Crabbe was still chuckling quietly to himself at whatever story or joke had been told, dressed in his robes with his cloak folded on the seat next to him, both most likely had been washed and steamed with care by his mother as she had done since his first day.

Goyle was absentmindedly digging through a box of Birtie Bott’s Every Flavor Beans while watching him from the other end of the seat, his eyes glimmering in amusement. He wasn’t sure if they were laughing at him, but perhaps with how pathetic he was, they were. 

Pansy, his only faithful friend, in which he told _nearly_ everything, was sitting across from him and watching him closely. As if she was looking at a puzzle to be solved. He supposed he was a puzzle, but one with several pieces missing, and each piece being from a different box. 

“What?”

“I asked how your holidays were,” she said sighing in annoyance. Knowing her she was most likely annoyed, not about him not hearing - she was used to it - but the fact that he had avoided _everything_ since the moment she had first seen him. 

“It was fine,” he lied. He couldn't even be bothered to tell them how his family had traveled to some remote place off the coast of Spain, it had been as terrible as being trapped at the Manor.

He tensed, something that had become a reflex, when she scanned his rigid body. Damn her. She always knew when something was wrong and was currently giving him the look that said, ‘I’m not dumb’ – thought sometimes that was debatable – ‘I know you’re hiding something, and I will find out what it is.’ It was quite funny, though the first few times she had looked at him like that he had flinched, it had been terrifying to have any attention on him from another person, used to it being the bad kind. He had spent a while quietly dying inside, trying to work out what he had done wrong, but got over it when he realized the true meaning of her look and learnt it was one that came with friendship. 

Noticing the curious eyes of Crabbe and Goyle at her silence, Pansy quickly moved onto another subject. 

“Did you hear about how Professor Lupin is the teacher for Defence Against the Dark Arts again?” And like the idiots they were, Crabbe and Goyle instantly forgot about it.

“Isn’t he a werewolf?” asked Goyle who searched desperately among the sweets in the box for a good flavor. He smiled and picked up a light blue one before putting in his mouth and started chewing it. Within half a second his face was scrunched up in disgust and was still even after he swallowed it. Crabbe laughed as Goyle cringed, looking like he could puke any second. 

“Yeah, but Dumbledore said that he’ll have a couple days off around the full moon and would be closely monitored during that time and apparently that made everyone happy. So, I’m happy because he was my favorite teacher.”

“You enjoyed being terrified?” squeaked out Crabbe. Draco remembered what his fear had been when the professor had showed them the Bogart. A small smile made its way onto his face, the first one in days, at the memory. It had been of his cousin, who was special in her own unique way. Her high voice had echoed around the room and the ridiculous heels she wore clicked as she moved. The Bogart had perfectly replicated Crabbe’s cousin, so much so that he had been still shaking an hour later.

“No,” she smirked, “I liked watching everyone else being terrified. It was entertaining.” Neither she nor Draco had to face the Bogart, thankfully. They were both not planning on revealing the things that they kept buried the deepest and hadn’t even told each other what they were. When it was Potter’s shot, they were beyond relieved when a dementor appeared and Professor Lupin announced the end of the lesson, it meant that he wouldn’t have to answer any questions as to why his father appeared.

Even though he hadn’t faced it, there was not a doubt in his mind that it would be his father standing there, yelling every foul and horrible thing about him into the classroom.  
The though sent his chills down his spine. 

~

The rest of the train ride he spent ignoring everybody, specifically Pansy, and looked out the window. It was no surprise that during his daydreaming – a word he believed better described it – that he had not noticed how close they had gotten to Hogwarts. 

The usual chatter that had been consistent on the train ride, now got louder. The laughter and excitement of the students barely contained. He was just as excited to get to Hogwarts, though he was far better at hiding it, but for incredibly different reasons. 

The brown headed boy that ran past the compartment door, a huge smile on his face, was excited for the feast. He would be able to eat and laugh with his friends. Not because he was getting away from his parents.

And the girl who followed after him laughing, was excited to reunite with her girlfriend in which she hadn’t seen in a couple days, but missed none the less. 

He joined his friends in preparing to get off the train, hiding and suppressing each and every wince that moving caused. The loud noises seeming to echo inside his head, causing the head ache that had been bothering him since this morning even worse. The head ache was probably from the overwhelming noise, or maybe it was the stress, or perhaps it was from when his father had shoved his head against the wall. 

Perhaps it was all three reasons.

It was like a stampede trying to get out of the compartment alone, so while Crabbe and Goyle shoved their way through people, both Draco and Pansy chose to stay and wait for everyone else to leave. The downside; Pansy could ask questions. 

The moment the other two walked out the door, she faced Draco and pinned him with a glare. On the outside he was calm, a look of boredom on his features. But inside, he was practically dying. 

_What if she found out? What would she do? Would she leave when she found out how much of a bloody coward he was? Would she laugh?_

Or perhaps not even believe him, just like the one person he thought he could trust. He had been called a liar, just looking for attention or trying to find another way to get what he wanted. It was true – in a way. His family owned things that probably would have the Weasleys drooling but it was never what he wanted.

The one thing he had only ever wanted, family, would never be his. And maybe that made him selfish and a prick, but he didn’t care. 

“Right, want to tell me what is going on?” Pansy’s gaze had softened to one of concern, the one he was most terrified and hated the most. Her signature sharp cold voice was gone and was replaced with a softer one. Only a select few knew the real Pansy, her parents and him being it. Of course, she had to keep up the asshole Slytherin act in sake of her parents being spies, but she also hated appearing weak. A trait that they both shared, it made them feel vulnerable, but somehow the two could open up more when in each other’s company. 

“Nothing,” Draco sighed, making she sure she heard the irritation. 

“Bullshit,” she spat out, chuckling slightly, probably at his horrible attempt to lie. Her voice had grown cold again and the concern was gone, _thank god._

She had most likely seen more than he gave her credit for, she was incredibly smart after all, and if it hadn’t been for the large part of Slytherin in her personality, she would 100% be a Ravenclaw. She kind of was a Slytherin version of Hermione Granger, though she was far less annoying. 

He got up from his seat and began walking towards the door, partly because it was nowhere near as busy and to escape Pansy. She didn’t need to know everything. Looking back, he expected the interest to be gone, like what usually happened when it was something else and he didn’t want to answer, but apparently not this time. 

Ignoring her ever growing concern, he said, “You coming or you just gonna sit there?” 

“Yeah, yeah, I’m coming,” she stood and the two walked off the train.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so this is probably terrible, but why the hell not. No-one is stopping me from writing this or sharing it. Hope you enjoyed and it didn't kill too many of your brain cells.  
> Sorry if you saw a heap of spelling mistakes and grammar errors, I'm terrible at it.


	2. An Awful Blend of Reality and Memories

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter might be especially triggering to some readers.

Nothing had changed besides the number of leaves on trees and the position of rocks on the path. Windows still glowed from the candles that filled every corridor, the castles roof shining faintly in the moonlight as it always did. 

Hogwarts was the same, but the people weren’t. 

Students laughed, a few letting tears roll down there cheeks freely as they clung to reunited friends. Lovers shared kisses burning with heat and passion, as if the world was ending and they wanted every possible moment to themselves. Personally, he just hoped they kept their pants on.

He had spent weeks hoping that when he stepped off the train, he would be at ease, no longer panicking and paranoid. He wouldn’t be constantly worried that his father would be watching his every move, either through his own eyes or the servants that were ordered to report on him. He had hoped he would be able to take a breath of fresh air and think that everything would be okay for a while, able to let himself relax. 

He had unknowingly deceived himself. 

He did not feel at peace, instead he felt shattered like a broken vase. He did not think anything would be okay, not when his skin burned, and his heart beat relentlessly against his ribs, feeling as if everyone around him was watching. Ready to report to his father. Tell him every wrong thing he had unknowingly done. 

He should be smiling, happy to reunite with Pansy and Blaise, relieved to be able to occupy his mind with his studies rather than what would happen if he launched himself out of his window. 

He shouldn’t be dizzy beyond reason, heart pounding in his chest while also simultaneously being caught in his throat. He shouldn’t want to close his eyes to block out the clashing colours of the Hogwarts houses, nor should he want to climb back onto the train and ride it all the way back before running away. 

He was away from _them_ , yes, that much was true. But he felt as if they had followed him, both with one hand resting on each shoulder, always there. 

They would never go away. 

He wanted them to go away. 

But he couldn’t really think like that, they were his family for god’s sake. If they ever found out, somehow able to read his mind and see all the vicious and miserable thoughts, they would twist everything into weapons. 

Twist his fears into sharp knifes that they used to scratch at his skin when he slept, his greatest desires twisted until he doubted what he really wanted anymore. His mind and thoughts twisted and re-shaped until he stopped believing in the difference of what was real or just an illusion. 

Blinking rapidly for a few moments, the flashing images of constantly moving images and the loud chatter of students making his head spin. He began searching the crowd, partly because he was looking for Blaise, Crabbe and Goyle – the latter two somehow disappearing into thin air, the former having sat in another compartment. But mostly because his skin pricked under the watchful eyes of a naturally curious witch.  
Draco knew she was trying to see beneath the mask of ice and steal that he kept in place. She would find nothing, or so he hoped, seeing anything was too much.

Having enough of Pansy’s staring, he finally turned his head to look at her with a brow raised in question. Pansy looked away and if he were anyone else, he would’ve thought he had imagined her watching. But, as it was, he was himself, so he noticed. 

After a moment, the curious looked that had buzzed in her eyes vanished as Pansy spotted someone amongst the crowd, her cheeks becoming slightly rosy and eyes glazed with awe. He saw her mouth twitch into a small, sweet smile.

Pansy looked . . . friendly.

And she was blushing, something so rare and seemingly abnormal on her that he could count the number of times he had seen her blush on one hand. 

Draco suddenly had the urge to check if the sky was crashing down upon them with the weight of the stars, or if the pigs they had meant to eat at the feast had escape and flown away. 

Instead, Draco turned around, spotting Blaise weaving his way through the crowd towards him. As he got closer he noticed that Blaise’s cheeks were flushed, and his usual cold mask had slipped slightly to reveal flickers of embarrassment. 

_Wait, was Blaise blushing?_

“Hey,” Blaise said slightly breathless, when he finally got close enough for Draco to hear him over the other students. 

Draco nodded in greeting. “What happened?” he asked, gesturing to behind him where a couple of Slytherins were snickering and looking in Blaise’s direction. 

He shrugged and muttered, “Weird Slytherins, I regret sitting with them.” Blaise looked behind him for only a moment, but when he spotted someone his already flushed cheeks somehow got redder.

“Has someone got you hot and bothered already?” Pansy cut in, obviously having decided to come back from dream land, a somehow perfectly manicured brow raising in amusement. A glint of wicked amusement had entered Pansy’s eyes. 

“No! Why would you think that?” Blaise scowled, his blush deepening. 

Pansy laughed slightly in amusement and muttered something along the lines of ‘bloody twat’, before making her way towards the carriages, beckoning for Draco and Blaise to follow her.

~

The carriage ride to the castle had been a shocking moment of déjà vu, something he experienced every time he got in one of the carriages. The ride to the castle was entertaining, but it was not his friends that made it so. They talked about things that didn’t concern him and he had not wanted to put any effort into listening. He was instead watching the magnificent black beasts pull the carriages up to the castle. 

Thestrals. 

He had always found them fascinating, with their skeleton thin bodies, leathery black skin and wings like bats, some might find them slightly horrifying. He was so enraptured by them and their abnormal beauty that he so greatly admired, that he had tried to tell someone about them.

It was incredibly hard to convince someone he was sane, when he doubted it himself. 

For weeks he had dedicated every free moment into finding what he had seen, trying to find anything that could convince himself that he wasn’t going insane. He had eventually gotten his friends to stop worrying about it, and eventually they forgot it, but he couldn’t. He was so worried and terrified that when he had found what it was, what he had seen, he had never been more relieved. 

And terrified. 

Because the only way that anyone saw them, was if they had seen death. He had. Which meant if anyone found what he had been talking about, knew why he could see them, they would ask questions. 

He wouldn’t answer them, but that didn’t matter to his father, he would be punished just the same. 

The carriage ride to the castle only took ten minutes, passing in a blurry hazed filled with circling thoughts. 

_He was free. Is his father mad? What was his mother saying about him now? He was free. It didn’t feel like it. Was that them, there in the crowd? No, that was someone else. But it looked like them. No, idiot, it wasn’t. Don’t be so paranoid. He’s away. He’s free. Liar._

It didn’t feel like freedom. Instead he felt like he was a bird kept in a cage, the wonders of the world visible just outside the bars, the door was open. But he couldn’t go to them. There was a tether around his leg, attached to the support which he relied so heavily on.

If he wasn’t insane before, his thoughts were enough to drive anyone insane.

When he was finally sitting at the Slytherin table in the Great hall surrounded by his friends, he found it hard to not fall asleep despite the obnoxiously loud voices. Everything had built up, like an overfilled closet, clothes pushing at the door and doors buckling under the attempt to keep everything in.

He chuckled under his breath, _guess he was also something that was in that closet._

Pansy glanced at him from out of the corner of her eye and he saw the question there. He shook his head and looked away, the tiniest of smiles on his lips – a real one.

Sitting on the other side of Pansy, he spotted Blaise staring into space, or that’s what it looked like. If he didn’t previously know he had the biggest crush on a Ravenclaw, he would’ve thought that as well. 

Following Blaise’s line of sight, he spotted the girl in question. With Indian brown skin and black hair that appeared flawless, it was no wonder Blaise had practically fallen in love with her.  
Draco could see she was beautiful, there was no doubt about it, but she was so not his type.

Nudging Pansy slightly with his elbow he motioned his head in the direction of Blaise. Pansy, quickly catching on, noticed his expression and searched the table for the girl.

Smirking slightly at him, a purely wicked glint in her eye that only meant trouble, she turned towards Blaise and although he now couldn’t see her face, he could imagine it. A wicked smirk, a slightly raised brow, and a look that was purely Pansy Parkinson. 

_This will be fun to watch._

“So, when are you two getting married?”

“What!” Blaise cried, drawing the attention of a few Slytherins sitting close by, but from a sharp glare from Blaise they looked away. Lowering his voice, he turned to Pansy, “What are you talking about?”

“I mean, your obviously obsessed with her,” Pansy said, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world. Which it was. 

As they both began to banter, Draco tuned them out, suddenly too tired to try and socialise. All the exhaustion that he had fought for the past of couple hours had settled in his bones and now he wanted sleep more than ever.  
Looking around the hall, trying to keep himself awake and occupied he couldn’t miss the glances of disgust, anger and fear that the Slytherin table received. 

_Prejudice assholes._

They hadn’t met majority of the Slytherins, but just because what some people said, they didn’t hesitate to deem them evil and cruel. 

When Dumbledore rose from his place after the sorting of first years was finished, he sighed, knowing that he still had a long time before he was able to retreat to the comforting solitude of his room.

Dumbledore began his usual speech about _hope and looking forward to events in the future, blah, blah blah blah,_ and all Draco wanted to do was walk out. But that would raise questions so instead he decided to look at the people in the hall again.

It would be impossible to miss Harry potter watching him. 

Harry bloody Potter.

The ‘perfect’ boy, the one who saved them all, the one who would never have to worry about his reputation. Everything bad he did was rewarded, like in first year when he broke several rules, and then awarded a shit ton of points by Dumbledore. He always had it easy and had everything handed to him. Wouldn’t surprise him if someone wiped his ass for him as well. 

_Probably the she-weasel._

Their eyes met, green meeting silver, but where there usually would be burning rage there was something else. Draco didn’t like what he saw. 

Potter’s hair was in its usual mess, brown skinned glowing gold under the candles that floated through out the hall, a small smile on his lips. 

And those _stupid_ green eyes, that for perhaps the first time in ever, held concern and kindness. But of course, that kindness was fake, it always was. Potter was just like everyone else, trying to get under his skin, inside his head, trying to learn his secrets. 

He hated him even more – something he hadn’t realised was possible. 

A flash of anger coursed through his veins and with a sneer he turned away, Potter obviously shocked by the quick change if his wide eyes were any indication. He joined the other students in the applause that followed the end of Dumbledore’s speech and was satisfied when he spotted Potter jump at the sudden noise. 

Sighing, any anger he had felt melting away, he began picking at the food on his plate as everyone around him dug in, some quite literally. Especially Weasley, even across the hall he could see him stuffing impossible amounts of chicken into his mouth.

 _What the hell_ is _Weasley?_

Pansy’s laughter echoed in his ear and he tried to contain his wince – he failed, the loud noise reminding of other things that made his ears hurt. He cringed inwardly as he felt several eyes shift to him. His skin prickled as if their eyes were knives digging into his skin, his heart beat racing and a pressure building up in his lungs. He couldn’t understand how his younger self had bathed in the attention, now, it made him want to turn to dust and hide in the cracks of the floor. 

_Just piss off you nosy bastards._

Thankfully, everyone’s attention was brought elsewhere when someone on the Gryffindor table began choking, his moment of gruelling suffering over. His shoulders relaxed, and he let out a breath that he hadn’t realised he was holding, the pressure disappearing from his lungs. 

The feast continued onwards, him trying not to be noticed and only eating a couple mouthfuls of food while everyone else laughed and smiled. Even Severus smiled slightly at something Dumbledore told him – though to be fair it was more of a grimace. Throughout the feast he saw Pansy glance at him, a glimpse of worry in her eye, before quickly averting her eyes trying to act is if it hadn’t happened. 

He looked up from his still partially full plate when the hall quietened, finding Dumbledore had risen from his seat and was scanning the students with eyes that were far too wise. 

With a cleared throat, the gleam in his eye had disappeared and he took on the persona of the slightly eccentric – more than slightly, in Draco’s opinion – Hogwarts headmaster.

“Just a few words before you return to your dormitories, all first-years should know that the forest on the grounds are forbidden to all students,” Draco didn’t think anyone missed the sharp look he gave Potter and his friends, “On a much happier note, Quidditch trials will be held in the second week of this term. Anyone that is interested in playing for their houses should contact Madam Hooch.  
“Now off to bed, you’ll need your rest.”

As one large mass of students, the students rose and made their way through the door. Draco, not waiting for his friends, slipped through the crowd like the snake that everyone claimed him to be. He barely disturbed anyone, only bumping into a few people that barely looked his way. 

He remembered how him, and his friends had acted a couple years ago, pushing their way through the crowd, Pansy and Blaise there by his side. But now it was different.

Very different. 

~

The corridor was empty, and he had never felt so alone as he walked down it. He had successfully gotten ahead of the group by taking several short cuts, but even this far away from them he could hear the impossibly loud chatter and laughter echo along the walls. The torches that were placed along the walls at even intervals flickered, offering little warmth as the temperature continued to decrease. He barely felt it. 

His feet scuffed against the floor as he slowly moved to lean against the cobblestone of the dungeon corridor wall. The cold against his back dug into his skin like needles, striking at his bones and poking at memories of other times he was huddled against the wall. It was comforting in a strange and haunting way. To be reminded that the cold was real, that this was real and not the moments that had been branded to the backs of his eyes or the words that played on repeat in his ears. 

He had always found comfort in the cold. The snow of winter when everything disappeared, the sparse wild life that was as alone as him, or the chill of the common room that never got warm despite the few fireplaces and heat enchantments. 

The cold was the only thing that managed to stop his father from chasing him out of the manor with his anger filled eyes and raised fist, or his mother’s shrill voice reminding him even now how pathetic and cowardly he was. 

They would stop in the doorway, only a few times risking their own happiness to follow him out into the cold. When they did, it was only a couple steps before they dashed back inside and closed the door. 

More often than not, they locked it. 

The cold was a safety, despite the danger and threat it posed to his limbs or health, it was away from them and nothing else mattered. 

He was safe. 

So, with the cold as his only comfort when he was away from school, he would escape his room when he could hear his father stomping up the stairs, drunk beyond reason, or the clicking of his mother’s heels. He would go to the woods by the manor where it always held a haunting beauty and never failed to amaze him. 

The trees shrouded in dark shadows would reach up to the sky, snow falling gracefully as the dances that he had been forced to watch when he was younger.

The stars that shone down on him were like grains of salt on a black table cloth – like when a salt shaker had been thrown across the dining room in a fit of rage spilling across the table.

They were so far away and yet so bright, conquering all odds and challenges to achieve their one purpose of shining. They were so much stronger than him, and so were the animals he sometimes saw prowling through the woods.

Lost in his thoughts he didn’t notice the throng of people making their way down the corridor until they ten meters away from him. 

Knowing Pansy and Blaise they would have noticed how quickly he left and would undoubtedly try and talk to him. He couldn’t see them at the front of the approaching crowd, but he knew they were there somewhere looking for him.

He stood close to the door amongst the sea of green and black robes, students hair gleaming in the candlelight, waiting until he could finally be away from everything. 

The prefects that led the first years – who he would have once tormented for fun but no longer wanted to – spoke to the students, their voices echoing and distorted. Draco didn’t listen to what they were saying, he had no doubt he’d heard it all before, but when they looked up to the whole crowd he began paying attention despite how much he didn’t want to. 

“The password is ‘Fanged Snake’, if you forget it you’ll be stuck out here until someone lets you in.” The girl prefect said, her dark eyes narrowed, and brown hair flicked over her shoulder, clearly thinking about purposefully not letting anyone back in. 

“So, don’t forget the password,” the boy added, rubbing the back of his neck, awkward and obviously not used to the attention he was receiving. He looked like he would rather be anywhere else, and to be honest, Draco related immensely. 

Eventually students began piling into the common room, the first years stepping off to the side to gawk at the hanging chandeliers, exquisite furnishings and the view from the windows. Sea life swam past, peering in at the students, looking at lives from a distance. Their wide eyes scanned the students, curiously looking at the new arrivals and looking at those they had seen plenty times before in recognition. 

One girl, smiling brightly, her eyes and blond hair shining in the eerie glow, strode to the window and looked amongst the creatures that had gathered. They looked back at her and seemed happier as well, as if they were friends reunited once more.

Draco turned away from the people, the happy girl, the shy prefect and his friends that had noticed him on the other side of the room. His heart ached, his throat tighter, not allowing enough air to his lungs. He could feel the tears stinging the backs of his eyes, his vision blurring faintly around the edges. He could feel the panic seeping from his thoughts into his body, his hands beginning to shake, and his legs weakening. He didn’t even know why it was happening, even if he knew what it was. 

But It couldn’t happen here, not in front of so many people. 

_It couldn’t._

He walked up the stairs to where he knew his dormitory was, where it had always been in the past. He was rushing now, his breathing more rapid, shallower. 

Not yet. He had to hold on just a moment longer.

_Just a moment longer._

He reached his door, and when he spun around to quickly close it, he saw Blaise walking towards his door, confused. But that didn’t stop him, he closed the door, flicked the lock his father had insisted be put on his door and leaned his back against it.

He let his legs give up then, all strength gone and drained from his body, and collapsed to the floor.  
Closing his eyes, he tried to take deep breaths, but he couldn’t. The panic was still firmly holding on, showing no signs of going away. Tears ran freely down his cheeks, too tired to care, he let them. Sobs wracked his body, his shoulders shaking as he slightly rocked back and forth. He brought his hands up to his face and rubbed at his eyes, trying to get rid of the images that flashed before his eyes. 

_“You’ll never be good enough!”_

_A raised fist and then pain. The sound of smashing glass echoing through the halls._

_“Why don’t you actually do something good for once in your life!”_

His mother and his father, their voices bouncing relentlessly inside his head. His hands threaded through his hair, pulling, trying to bring himself out of the memories. 

He just wanted them to leave him alone. He wanted them to get out of his head.

_Get out._

_Get out._

_Get out!_

He flinched as the door behind his back thudded, a fist knocking against the wood. He flinched again as a voice spoke.

“Draco? Are you okay?”

The Italian accent and deep voice should have comforted him, it should have distracted him from what was going on inside his head. It didn’t.

He wanted to be left alone. Wanted Blaise to walk away. He didn’t want anyone to know, there would be far too many questions. He didn’t want that.

He screwed his eyes shut, to a point where it became painful. 

_Get out!_

“Draco?” Blaise persisted. Pansy had probably told him to ask, to come check on him, to see if he was okay. He wasn’t. 

He would be. 

He _has_ to be. 

_Stop being so pathetic and pull yourself together!_

_Stop being so weak!_

He doubted they cared. No-one cared about him, not even his parents. How could they? 

After a minute of silencing his suffering, he could hear Blaise’s footsteps as he walked away from the door, light and hesitant, as if he was tempted to turn around and barge his way in here. 

Draco didn’t want him to, was glad that he didn’t. And yet for some stupid reason, the fact that Blaise had so easily given up hurt him. 

_He's so pathetic._

He let out a breath, one that he had been holding for far too long, the painful pressure in his lungs slowly ebbing away. 

He tried to let his body relax, tried and failed. His shoulders shook, his barely contained sobs crawled their way up his throat. 

His hands fisted in his hair, pulling at it until is felt as if the strands would detach themselves from his head. Fresh tears ran down his cheeks, his mouth parted, and breath unsteady. His heart pounded against his ribs,  
so close to breaking them.

Perhaps if his ribs broke, his heart would muster enough strength to leap out of his body and onto the floor. 

Perhaps he would bleed to death and his pathetic life would end. 

~

Draco no longer found the strength to pull at his hair or rock back and forth. 

He was drained, his soul left raw and aching. The emptiness beckoned, waiting with open arms to take him away, but it hesitated, waited. 

His hands shook, unsteady and clumsy as he tried to wipe away the tears that had long since dried on his cheeks. 

He didn’t know how long he had sat on the ground by his door, pathetically rocking back and forth and quietly sobbing. He also didn’t know how long he had been sitting there once the panic had eventually subsided. 

His eyes were closed and had been for a long time. He could feel his hair brush against his stinging cheeks, no doubt in a state that would make his father shake his head. 

As an uncontrollable wave of shivers run up his spine and his heart started to quicken, he pushed the thought of his father away. He was the reason he was in this fucking mess. 

He opened his eyes, wincing at the light and using his hands - that would no doubt be shaky for several hours - he rubbed at his face again and brushed his hair out of his eyes. 

He looked around his room, the only place he felt truly okay to have a breakdown. The dark wooden floors shined, no doubt from the elves that had been preparing it earlier, the green walls bringing a sense of nostalgia. Tall windows showed a view into the watery depths of the black lake, black curtains on either side,  
and a desk was placed under the window in front of him. 

To his right was a four-poster bed set with the Slytherin green sheets, his trunk near the foot of the bed. To his left in front of the other window was a shelf that he had snuck in with a shrinking spell in second year. It was full of things that he didn’t want to leave at the manor, his favorite books, potion ingredients, memorabilia. 

Things he had to bring with him and couldn’t risk taking back to the manor. 

It was his room, and his room alone, because his father didn’t want him to be put at risk among the other students. Dumbledore had allowed it, though he did ask questions. Ones that Draco just shrugged off with ‘I don’t know why my father wants that’. Dumbledore had frowned and for a couple months, had kept an eye on him.

Draco had noticed and had been confused, _why does it matter if I have a room to myself?_

His father told him that it was because he didn’t want his son to be at risk from other students that would no doubt use the Malfoy name against him – which even then made no sense – but that obviously wasn’t true  
since his father didn’t care for his safety, not with the way he treated him. 

Perhaps it wasn’t because his father didn’t trust the other boys in the dorm, but him. He didn’t know what he could do that could possibly harm someone else except from the spells they learned, and they could never do any permanent damage, at most scare them a bit. Maybe his father had known even before him where his preferences lay. 

Maybe he had known he was gay.

If his father had known and thought that, it would make sense as to why he hated him so much. The Malfoy name was not one to be tainted by anything not normal – or some bullshit like that. 

Draco couldn’t remember how many times his mother and father had lectured him on what was acceptable and what was not, stupid things that shouldn’t matter. Like who to associate yourself with, bloodlines, status, which gender it is acceptable to be with. 

The matter of marrying for love never arose when they lectured him, it was not even considered. He doubted his parents had married for love, not with the sound of yelling and smashing of objects echoing up to his room late at night.

Love was something he doubted he would ever feel for someone.

Or receive.

He shook his head to clear his thoughts and rose on shaky legs, using the door as support. He trudged across the room, mentally and physically drained, wanting more than ever to sleep. 

It took him twice as long than normal for him to change out of his robes, his limbs seemed heavier and took far too much effort to lift. He had a last shred of common sense and logic to at least check that the door was locked, and the silencing charm was still in place from last year before he closed the curtains and collapsed onto the bed. 

It didn’t take long for sleep to pull him away in its warm embrace. Absentmindedly he wondered how many times he would wake up that night with nightmares. How sore would his throat be from waking up screaming?

The thought shouldn’t have made him laugh. 

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally updated! I have a couple of the next chapters written out from a while ago, but looking back they need a lot of editing, so I apologize in advance if it takes forever. Thank you so much for the support I have gotten, it means the world to me!


	3. Tears of the Chosen

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So somehow one day of procrastination and writers block turned into nearly two months worth of procrastination and writers block . . .  
> yay
> 
> I finally updated! This chapter turned out a bit longer than the last two somehow. Hopefully it won't take as long to get the next chapter done. . .  
> Enjoy :)

**Harry**

With a start he woke, lungs heaving in air greedily and sweat running down the curve of his back. The hair on his arms stood on end as an eerie chill settled in his bones, the room cold and distant, feeling as if he were looking at everything through a blurry window. 

This wasn’t real. 

It was a delusion - a dream his mind had created in an attempt to comfort him. But it didn’t.

Everyone was dead.

He had seen Ron dead, laying limp on the steps of the Hogwarts castle, face pale and blood dark as it bled from a wound in his head and dripped down the steps. Hermione’s body had been covered in her own blood from slashes across her arms, only her face left clean. ‘Mudblood’ carved into her arm by Bellatrix and left lying on the Gryffindor table, tears dried to her pale and withdrawn cheeks. Remus and Sirius had both died, killed within a few painful moments, only allowing a last glance between them that said all that they did not have time to say. 

Other’s had died as well – it was all his fault. Luna had stood tall against the arachnids of the forbidden forest, weeping for the death around her. Then others had wept for her death as she was speared through the heart. Dean and Seamus had clutched each other as they slowly bled, death eaters laughing as they cried in agony. 

This wasn’t real because he had failed, everyone had died. Bleeding, screaming, weeping, misery, pain. 

His arms shook, his chest heaving under the weight of all the dead bodies that piled upon him. His shoulders weakened under the pressure of all of those expectant hands resting there; Dumbledore, Hermione, Ron, _everyone._

He couldn’t take it. He was going to fail, everyone would die. And he would be the only one to blame. 

He gasped in a breath as his lungs fought for air, the panic gripping firmly at his throat with its bony hands. The cold air stung his lungs, sending his mind reeling at the feeling. The feeling of it being _real._

Because this was real, he hadn’t failed yet, everyone was alive.

He tried to push the thoughts out of his mind, gripping the covers of his bed tightly with his shaking hands. He barely succeeded, knowing they would just come back, they never left him alone. 

_Never._

Hounding him day and night, growling at his ear and yapping at his heels, leaking into his nightmares like ink.

But he had to keep breathing, he had to, because otherwise he would really fail. 

And that could never happen.

Rubbing at his eyes he scanned the dormitory through blurry eyes, heart still pounding and chest slowly calming down. None of the others were awake – as far as he could tell - still sleeping and dreaming peacefully. 

The room was cast in an eerie, blue glow, similar to that of being deep in the forbidden forest when there was a full moon. The shadows deeper and darker than the horrors of his nightmares, and yet he found the smudges of blues to be strangely comforting. 

Harry reached onto his nightstand, cringing every time he bumped into something that made too much noise. He finally felt the familiar cool metal of his glasses, and slid them onto his face, now able to see properly, and reached for his wand. The familiar feel of it in his hand drew his mind further into the present, streams of power in his veins alight and humming with each breath he took. 

Taking a deep breath, he cast a simple spell, and found that it was far too early for him to begin getting ready.

Classes started today, and Harry didn’t want to go – not entirely at least. He was glad for something to do, to get his mind off the weight that had been steadily adding to his shoulders over the years. He was glad to see Remus, who, after months of negotiation with the Ministry of Magic, Dumbledore and other people that Harry had already forgotten the names of, had been deemed acceptable to return to the teaching position he rightfully deserved. 

But he also just wanted to sleep.

To not have to worry every day about the war that he had been drafted into since birth. He wouldn’t have to worry about how he sometimes caught Dumbledore watching him, frowning as if trying to find all of his flaws, trying to pick apart his personality like picking through the bones of a still squirming fish. 

He wanted to let his mind and body rest, but he couldn’t even sleep without mind shattering and heart stopping nightmares. So that would be a terrible idea. 

He took in his friends that lay sleeping in their beds through half closed eyes - the friends that he had only moments ago seen dead, bleeding and crying. Each time he saw them blead he felt worse, unable to walk with concrete filled shoes, unable to keep his own heart beating when there was the almost certain possibility that theirs would stop.

Snores could be heard from a couple of them, arms and legs shifting occasionally under the quilts that were adorned with Gryffindor red.

_Safe, okay, alive._

He repeated it in his head - a mantra that his sleepy mind clung to – and tried to distract himself. Throwing the covers off his body he sat perched on the edge of his bed, a part of him regretting getting up. The bottom of his feet being thawed by the wood floors, the cool air stung his legs and sent gooseflesh up his arms and back like a wave, his body shaking in the chill.

His mind drifted, recalling the train ride, the bickering, the laughter, the smiles – mostly from Ron and Hermione. He however, spent most of the ride worrying. Worrying about _everything._

His friends.

Dumbledore.

Remus and the criticism he would undoubtedly receive. 

And Voldemort. 

The one particular thing about the war that made him feel even worse was that he didn’t know what to do. There were no instructions, no guidelines, no definite solution to the problem, and Dumbledore wasn’t exactly helping. It sent his mind into overdrive, every possible horrible outcome flashing between each blink of his eyes. 

Not even the letter in his pocket had been able to make him stop worrying about everything. 

The letter was from Sirius, a tradition that they had begun the year after he moved in with him and Remus. He had found that after finding and living in such a loving home after years of a . . . _not so loving home_ , he got intensely homesick.

When he had reluctantly told them, neither of them had judged him for it or told him not to cry or to grow up. Instead, they had listened to what he had to say and were there for him, finding ways to help him when he wasn’t feeling so well.

The letters were Sirius’s idea – apparently it had been inspired by something he and Remus used to do in school – and as well as Remus’s input of being able to fire call them whenever he needed it, he hadn’t felt so alone anymore.

Over the years he hadn’t gotten homesick as often, not needing the letters for their original purpose they still continued it anyway. He had learnt to cope, turning to the comfort of his friends, now only read them when he was in a bad mood or if he was bored and needed to smile. 

He reached for his bedside, trying desperately to find the letter that he had placed there yesterday after the feast, having been too mentally exhausted to read it then. He eventually found it buried under one of his random school books, and he sighed in relief.

The paper was cool in his hands after being exposed to the night air, the sharp corners pleasantly poking at his slightly numb and stiff fingers. He smiled when he breathed in the scent that clung to the parchment – home. Coffee, firewood and the unique smell that had always been associated with Grimauld Place. 

Shifting his glasses and rubbing at his eyes, he stood and tip-toed towards the window on the other side of the dorm room. Letting in rays of moonlight, the window cast the room in a feint glow, barely enough for him to see on the other side of the room, but bright enough that sitting directly next to the window he would be able to read.

Lowering himself onto a couple of the many pillows that had been piled there from earlier - most likely thrown across the room by Seamus and Dean after one of their legendary pillow fights, which he was still confused as to how they had gotten so many – he looked out the window and onto the school grounds.

He couldn’t help but take in the view like an addict. It was beautiful, lit by the moon and guided by the stars, the world glowing in a haunting light that made his heart sing.

The cold dug into his feet and hands and some morbid part of his mid wondered if they would turn blue and go numb. 

Shaking the thoughts out of his head, he began inspecting the letter by moonlight. He smiled at the sight of the familiar handwriting, it being practically engraved into his memory.

Before he opened the letter, he knew – from both experience and the fact that he personally knew Sirius Black – that there would definitely be countless dramatic lines and phrases that he would have rehearsed before deeming them acceptable to ‘grace the parchment’. He once hadn’t understood how a fully-grown man could act like a teenager, but then after a while he realised that was just . . . Sirius. He was completely against becoming an adult or acting like one.

He knew that Sirius made his letters even more dramatic and funny to make Harry smile, but he always wondered what extent he and Remus would go to secure his happiness.

 _Too far, that poisonous voice in the back of his head hissed._

Harry worked open the letter with his finger, careful not to tear it. Grinning at the sight of Sirius’s words, he let his mind bathe in the comfort that they emitted. Memories of the many other times he had opened one of Sirius’s letters flashed inside his head, and his smile softened.

 

 _Dear Harry,_  
Those exploding snap cards sure do look lonely sitting on the shelf, I think I’m tempted to ask old Walburga to a match. Do you think I’d win? I think I would – the old hag probably hasn’t ever played. I’d ask Kreacher, but he’d probably cheat.  
If you ever are too stressed, remember Remus is there, I will gladly come, and your friends would do anything for you. Study hard, but make sure you have fun. No point shoving a textbook so far up your fucking ass you can’t even think straight.  
Make your mother and father proud.

__

__

_\- Sirius.  
p.s. Don’t tell Remus I swore, he’ll go furry mode on me (although we both know he swears more than the both of us)._

 

Harry chuckled under his breath, and re-read it a couple times, savouring the words that Sirius had written. He let the warmth seep into his bones, melting his frozen heart the slightest, warming his shaking limbs. 

_‘Furry mode’_ – as Sirius had made a habit of calling it but had never found out why – had been an occurrence when he was only a child, precious and innocent in their newly father eyes. They had been nervous at first, but desperate to get him away from where he was, trying their best to be fantastic role models that would help shape him into the hero that the world needed.

Of course, _role models_ could not swear.

But Sirius hadn’t exactly got the message, and many times Remus didn’t either. 

Remus, once he had either heard Sirius or realised that he himself had said it, would turn to Harry at the speed of light to check if he was listening, prepared to deliver a speech that would undoubtedly make both he and Sirius’s ears bleed. 

He was listening, every time. Anyone swearing immediately had his head jerking up to try and work out if it was directed at him. Of course, he had known it wasn’t anymore, and after a while had gotten used to the friendly banter that Sirius and Remus had. But Remus had still treated it like taboo for a while. 

Thus ensued . . . _‘furry mode’_.

It had taken both Harry and Sirius to explain to Remus that he didn’t need to turn into a lecturing, eighty-year-old grandpa who had just heard his nephew swear for the first time. They both knew when it was _appropriate_ to use such language (both he and Remus doubted Sirius knew though), and that both of them didn’t need to act as if Harry was as fragile as a fractured vase held together by sticky tape. 

It had since become something amusing to them, an inside joke that Sirius frequently used when he heard Remus swear and wanted to annoy him – which was a lot of the time. 

Folding the parchment, he carefully put it back into the envelope, and placed it on the ground next to him. Leaning against the cool stone wall of the dorm, he sighed into the quiet, the cold seeping through his shirt and leaching his skin of any warmth it previously held.

He looked out on the Hogwarts grounds again, the very place that had been the first to welcome him with open and loving arms, the first place he had been that had not seen him as a freak or had not hurt him. Here he met Ron and Hermione – who he now couldn’t imagine his life without -- and he was cared for. Fed and even _loved_ – he wasn’t so alone anymore. 

It used to make him smile to think about Hogwarts – to be able to escape the hell that that had been the Dursley’s, this becoming his heaven that swept him away with a sprinkle of fairy dust. 

But recently . . . it hadn’t.

It didn’t feel like that anymore, there were far too many deaths, the risk of his presence bringing the very thing they feared most was too high for it to be considered his haven anymore. He still loved the castle, he didn’t know if he would ever be able to completely stop loving it, but the captivating and enchanting magic had left his veins the moment that retched spell had been aimed at his heart.

He couldn’t make himself think that the castle was the same magical place he had first entered in first year, no matter how hard he tried, until eventually he gave up.

He had tried to do many things over the past few months; be happy, care, feel _something_. Eventually he had given up on those things too. 

The only thing he seemed to be good at now was lying. 

His eyes caught onto movement above the Forbidden forest’s tree line. A thestral slowly rising into the sky, black, paper-thin, leather wings beating hard against the air. He continued to watch, transfixed, as another joined the first. Smaller in comparison it stuck to the other’s side as they flew further away, deeper into the darkness of the Forbidden Forest, it was no doubt its child. 

Harry felt an ache in his chest at the sight and looked away, regretfully letting his mind wander to when he had been sitting in the same spot at the start of last year. 

He had been alive with nervous energy, anxiety pounding through his veins, unable to sit still, paranoid and constantly fidgeting. Ron and Hermione had instantly noticed the moment he had gotten on the train, but at Harry’s insistent requests they had begrudgingly left him alone. 

Eventually the panic left his veins and his heart learnt its normal rhythm, calming down as the weeks turned into months. His life returned to normal – or as normal as it could get. Having a homicidal mass murderer wanting to kill you since birth didn’t exactly qualify for normal. 

Focusing on classes more and doing fun, weird things with his friends, he allowed himself to be deceived by the calm into believing that his life could be normal. That he could wake up to Ron teasing him about sleeping in, before they both rushed down to the hall. Meeting Hermione already there, going to classes, laughing, avoiding girls and boys that wanted to flirt with them because they were so socially awkward, nearly failing a test because they stayed up too late – being teenagers. 

It had gone downhill from there. And his mind had since stayed there. 

His throat closed up, squeezing his eyes shut against the ringing in his ears, the wall of numbness crumbling as the memories flooded the backs of his eyes and his mind was snatched away in wicked claws. 

_“Crucio!” a wicked voice screamed, cackling as his body writhed on the floor and he cried out in agony. It burned and burned and burned and burned._

__

Oh god, make it stop, please! Make it stop!

__

“No one’s hear to save you, poor little Potter, what is going to happen?” the voice taunted, hissing, face twisted in a poisonous smirk, looking down at him with hatred filled eyes. “I think I have an idea.”

__

Then the pain. Again. And Again. Burning and burning and burning and burning. His bones crumbling into ash, his heart thundering in his ears, scream ripping at his throat as it echoed against the walls, a sick melody of misery that made his ears run red. 

__

_It burned. And burned. And burned. And burned. And it wouldn’t stop. Oh god make it stop. Make it stop. Please make it stop! PLEASE! MAKE IT STOP!_

He shook his head, fists banging against his temples, his body shaking. He bit into his lip, barely aware that he had drawn blood, holding back the sobs that threatened to escape their tightly enclosed cage. 

Merlin, he was bloody pathetic. Shaking on the floor, freezing, his mind spinning and spinning and spinning. His chest burned, and his arms were barely strong enough to move but he did anyway. 

He tried to take deep breaths through his nose, he couldn’t open his mouth. If he did he wouldn’t be able to hold back the sobs that were slowly creeping down his throat. And that would mean Ron would know that he hadn’t gotten better. And then Ron would tell Hermione, and Sirius and Remus. 

They couldn’t know.

Because then they would know how truly pathetic and miserable he was. How the bloody hell would he be able to kill Voldemort when he couldn’t even hold his crumbling mind together.

His body shook as his mind slowly crept back into the present, the flashback still trying to pull at his consciousness. Trying to bring him back to that dark place, but he didn’t want to. 

He did what he had done only a short while ago, focusing on the room around him and reminding himself this was real. 

This is real. That was in the past.

This is real. That was in the past. 

It was a trick Remus had taught him when he had first gone through hell, when it had been even worse, and he had struggled not knowing the difference from nightmare and reality. He had used it more than he thought he would have to. 

Taking a deep and shaky breath, the panic slowly but surely ebbed away like water at sea – though it never truly receded. His bones grew heavy, shoulders drooping as most of his energy was drained from his shaking body and into the night air. 

He didn’t move. Didn’t want to. Instead he stared at the wall in front of him, resting his weight fully into the wall he was sitting against. 

Listening to his thundering heart in his ears, his mind no longer wandered. As if it had finally realised what a terrible idea that was. 

It was a long time before he stopped shaking.

Standing up slowly from the window, he picked up the letter with weak hands and still rapid breathing, turning away from the Hogwarts grounds and to his bed.

_Merlin, he hoped a shower would help._

Going to class like this would be hell, but he knew that if he did try and sleep, he wouldn’t be able to. The nightmares would hound at him, pouncing from where they had been hiding in the shadows with their poisoned teeth. 

His feet made little sound as he slipped the letter back onto the nightstand where he’d deal with it in the morning.

He grabbed a change of clothes from the top of his partly open trunk, not even bothering to check what it was. He trudged to the bathroom with heavy feet, opening the door and shutting it behind him, wincing as it clicked into place and the lock echoed into the pitch-black room. 

As he stood, back pressed into the wood and his heart beating against his ribs, his eyes stared aimlessly into the looming dark surrounding him. He didn’t exactly want to turn the light on, he wanted to let the darkness take him away. 

Shadows morphed into haunting faces as he stood there, his arms hanging limp and useless by his sides. The dark reached for him, hands grappling and pulling at his skin and hair. 

_Take me away_ , he wanted to beg them.

He was a murderer, he was the reason his parents were dead and yet here he was, the bloody _saviour_. If it wasn’t for him his mum and dad would be alive, Sirius wouldn’t have gotten hurt last year, Hermione and Ron would have normal lives.

Maybe he should just-

“No.”

He turned on the lights with a quick flick of his wand, blinking rapidly as the light burned his still sleepy eyes. 

He wouldn’t think like that, at all. He would not fall back into that place, no matter how much closer he got to it each day. He wanted to be happy, to smile, to be brave and courageous despite everything that kept happening. But his stupid mind wouldn’t let him, throwing him further and further away from reality.

It was getting harder and harder to fight each day. 

Avoiding the mirror – not wanting to see his empty eyes, or if he had lost any more weight – he stripped off his clothes, leaving his glasses and wand on the sink counter, and walked towards the shower. 

Skin crawling under the touch of the ghostly chill and feet being bitten at by the cold, white tiles, he turned the water on and stepped into the instantly warm water.

_Thank merlin for magic._

Water ran down his brown skin like little dragons, the steam rising from the floor and fogging the glass. Some small childish part of his brain made him reach his hand towards it and draw a dumb face. 

It was a truly dumb face. Only thing dumber than it would be _idiotic_ Malfoy’s.

He snorted, shoving the blond headed prat far out of his mind, and focused on trying to get the hair out of his eyes, which was proving to be very difficult.

Running his hands along the scar that sat under his ribs, his body shuddered at the memory. His hand shifted away, grabbing some of the soap that he always used – plain, cheap, a habit that he hadn’t been able to break. 

Every time he bought something expensive he still felt bad, though over the years the feeling had lessened with the help of Remus and Sirius, who had showed him what a proper family was meant to be like. But, the stupid and insistent part of his brain echoed what his aunt and uncle had repeated to him on a daily basis just over three years ago.

So, he stuck with the cheap soaps.

His skin shone under the spray of the water, the lights transforming the water droplets into diamonds, the white tiles of the bathroom being the subject of his empty gaze as remnants of memories flashed behind his eyes. 

It was only a minute later that he stepped out of the warmth, the cool air stinging his skin, turning it a burning red. Wrapping himself in his towel, he hesitantly stepped in front of the foggy mirror.

Harry wiped his face with a corner of the towel before sliding the glasses onto his face. He couldn’t see anything of his appearance but blurry swatches of colour and an indistinguishable outline. He smiled slightly as he pictured himself as a distorted beast from one of the pictures in school books. 

Slipping on his oversized favourite grey jumper and black sweatpants, he grabbed his wand and tucked it into his back pocket. 

Curiosity won the internal battle, and a hesitant hand reached towards the mirror. Swiping away the condensation his body was revealed, frowning at what he saw. 

He didn’t look as bad – and by bad he meant looking as if he were to fall asleep any second. He had actually slept for an hour more every night on the last days of the holidays after Remus had given him a dreamless sleep, something that had become rare after he had become too dependent on it when he was younger.

But he was still so _dead_ looking, he sighed as he realised he’d have to use a light glamour. He was meant to be getting better right? It had been ages since _it_ happened, he should be over it by now. But he wasn’t. 

The irony of his appearance was the fact that he looked physically better than a week ago; he wasn’t anywhere near as thin and the bags under his eyes had lessened. But mentally he felt as if someone had stabbed repeatedly at his head with a fork before throwing his brain out a window and into the ocean.

_Why does everything about him, just not do what it’s meant to do?_

Unclicking the locking and slowly opening the door, he peered into the room and saw everyone was still asleep. Thankfully they hadn’t woken up otherwise he would have had to deal with curious and slightly irritated roommates all morning, and that had never been particularly fun. 

He tip-toed across the room, a gust of wind shaking the window, and cringed when a floor board creaked under his foot. The sound echoed into the room, as loud as a bomb in it’s silence. Ron stirred, groaning as he rolled over, only moment later he was asleep again. 

He let out the breath he hadn’t realised he was holding, and crept the remaining distance to his bed, this time barely making a sound, before sitting on the edge with a small exasperated sigh.

_What the fuck was he going to do now?_

Harry flopped backwards, arms splayed wide and legs hanging limply over the edge like bait. The evil demons would probably be drawling at the sight of his flesh, preparing to wrap their bony hands around before they pulled him into the depths of terror. Or if it wasn’t the demon that grabbed onto his legs, it would probably be the huge spider he saw under there when he had dropped a book during un-packing.

Somehow it had managed to be missed by the house elves – if it was Dobby cleaning his room that would explain it. 

He probably shouldn’t mention the spider to Ron.

With an internal groan he rolled over, now on his stomach, and reached onto his bedside table, grabbing the first book his hand touched.

He brought it close to his face in an attempt to read the words on the cover, only making out faint scribbles that vaguely resembled words. Was it because it was too dark, or could he suddenly just not read?

He sat up and moved towards the head of the bed, resting his back against the headboard, crossing his legs and pulling the quilt over his head. It was like a little tent and reminded him of when he used to do it when he slept under the stairs, using a stolen torch and his figurines to play out a story on the fabric. 

He cringed as he pictured what would happen if his dormmates woke up and saw him. The first thing they would probably think of would be that he was wanking - or something else disgusting and embarrassing.

 _Merlin, he didn’t think he would be able to live through that._

It was only a few more moments of darkness before Harry muttered, “Lumos,” and he was able to see, but he frowned in distaste at what he saw.

It was his potions book.

_Fucking fantastic._

Harry turned off the light and pulled the blanket off his head, the sudden change in temperature making his face flush. He shifted so he was able to put the horrendous book on the ground as quietly as possible, no way was he going to read about Potions.

He internally groaned when he remembered where he had packed the book he actually wanted to read. ‘ _Quidditch Through the Ages_ ’ was packed it at the bottom of his trunk – the part he left practically untouched because he was too lazy to deal with it. He pondered using a summoning spell, but quickly dismissed the idea because of the noise it would undoubtedly make.

He rolled onto his back, his arms and legs in similar position to that of a floppy star fish and stared at the ceiling. 

If he squinted his eyes hard enough, he saw a strange face. It kind of looked like Dumbledore if he had run into a wall head-on a couple times. 

He flung an arm across his eyes and begged for time to go faster – it didn’t. 

~

“What are you doing?”

“Reading.”

“Why the bloody hell would you be reading _now_?”

“Bored.” That was kind of a lie, Harry wasn’t actually _reading_ the book per se, merely staring at the words and occasionally turning the page to give his hands something to do. The truth was that he wanted to sneak around the halls or wander down to the lake but had realised that there was a high chance of him being caught when it was that close to sunrise. He was also trying to distract himself from his nightmare – it hadn’t been working. 

Ron sighed from where he was wrapped in his blankets on his bed, muttering something about him turning into Hermione before trying to unwrap himself from his blanket cocoon. He started writhing on his bed, similar to that of a worm, the other boys in the dorm stopped what they were doing to watch on amused. 

Harry sat up from his sprawled position on the bed, dropping the book down next to him, as Ron muttered a number of curses under his breath. He was slowly getting closer and closer to the edge of the bed, though Ron didn’t notice, and no one felt inclined to say anything. 

Ron’s arm appeared from the blankets near his head and he cheered with a wide grin on his face, looking as proud as if he had personally won the house cup. 

“Finally!”

Ron’s joy was short lived as his body went over the side of the bed and landed on the ground with a thud that echoed through the dorm.

Seamus and Dean burst out laughing from where they were had moved to sit on Dean’s bed, Harry snickered to himself as Neville hurried over with a concerned look in his eyes, but a small smile on his face nonetheless. Harry chuckled as a groan emanated from the bundle of blankets, red hair and pale limbs on the floor.

“You okay Ron?” Neville asked, standing above him. 

A reply that was muffled by the blankets made Neville frown and crouch down to help him. Unwrapping the blankets, Ron’s red freckles and crazy hair re-appeared, a grin on his face.

“Thanks, Neville.” Ron said breathlessly. The boy in question nodded and continued to help him to get out of the blankets. 

Dean and Seamus were still laughing, and Ron’s face turned red in both anger and embarrassment. Lunging the moment more of his arm was free, he grabbed one of the fallen pillows and ditched it at their heads. It hit them both in the face, but before either of the two could throw the pillow back Neville had gotten up and snatched the pillow out of their hands, probably knowing what they had wanted to do and knowing that it would start an all-out war. 

Seamus cried out and rolled his eyes, sharing a lingering glance with Dean before hesitantly getting ready for classes.

Harry sat on his bed and waited, having already gotten dressed and put on a light glamour, staring off into space and letting his mind wander to his classes. 

He dreaded going to potions, the constant feeling of Professor Snape’s hatred filled gaze never ceased to send chills down his spine each and every lesson. He was certain this year wouldn’t be any different. He tried to be good at potions, to follow the instructions, to not have it blow up in his face – he succeeded in that part – but he never understood it. Now being a sixth year, it meant everything would be harder. 

_He was probably going to fail. Lovely._

It made his eyes droop just thinking about going to classes and sitting there for hours. He didn’t know how he would be able to copy down notes, or study, or pay attention. His temples throbbed, and he sighed, today was going to be agonizingly long.

“Harry,” Ron said, standing at the base of his bed. Jumping at the quick separation of him and his subconscious, he looked up at Ron. “Day dreaming again?” he said with a raised brow. 

“Yeah, where are the others?” Harry asked, noticing that they were the last two in the dorm. _How long had he been day dreaming, surely it wasn’t that long?_

“They already left, mate.” 

_Obviously._ “Oh.”

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Ron said, beckoning to the door with his head. Harry cracked a smile at that, _of course he was._

He and Ron made their way to the common room, passing several students with sleep ruffled hair and messy robes that were frantically trying to get ready.

The atmosphere of the Gryffindor common room had always managed to make his heart swell at the familiarity of it, the flames licking at the logs in the fireplace, early morning sunlight streaming through the ceiling high windows. People trying to cram in homework on the tables sat with their heads bowed, their grades resting on their sleep deprived shoulders. 

The smell of the room had been peaceful and welcoming, settling in his bones and wrapping around his heart making it by far one of his favourite rooms of the castle.

But this year was different. 

Harry didn’t feel the warmth of the fire, instead the chill of his nightmare covered him like a second skin, a reminder of what had happened in this castle last year. The room was cold and distant, and he did not feel welcome. He was an intruder in their peaceful lives, disturbing the serenity and happiness that his absence caused. 

The room was a puzzle, and he was the extra piece in the box that didn’t need to be there. 

Hermione was sitting on one of the lounges with a book in her hand already, her dark skin and curly hair shining in the sun - the epitome of calm and happiness. 

“Took you long enough,” Hermione said, closing her book, a brow raised at the two of them. “We’ll be lucky enough to eat a piece of toast.”

That was lie, they had ages, but by Ron’s groan of misery and slightly pink cheeks he hadn’t yet looked at the time. Ron hurriedly made his way to the door, muttering to himself about how ‘it wasn’t his fault he turned into a caterpillar’.

Hermione laughed to herself and got up off the lounge, walking with Harry after Ron. 

Harry had hoped when he was younger that he would get used to the looks he would get. Maybe he would learn to ignore it, or maybe he would feel like he deserved them – but he didn’t. 

Each and every small glance he still received from passing students was like a sharp needle that stabbed insistently at his skin, leaving trails of blood running down his arms and back, small, red drips of his blood left in his wake.

Not for the first time, Harry wanted them to look away.

They walked into the Great hall and for a moment he was overwhelmed by the chatter of students, the noise in his ears like buzzing bees, his mind struggling to be heard over everything. His hands trembled as the noise heighted, like needles through his head, and then it snapped. 

He felt something shift, and then he felt _nothing at all_. 

He hadn’t noticed before, but Hermione and Ron had moved to walk next each other, now splitting to walk down either side, leaving him to follow behind Ron to the table. Harry didn’t dare stop, even as the pin pricks on his skin grew deeper and the blood trail grew, staining the floors of the ancient castle a deep red. 

The three sat, surrounded by Ginny, Dean, Seamus and Neville the latter three bickering about who would fail, placing bets on who they thought would get a girlfriend first– he didn’t want to listen. 

Ron immediately dug into the food laid out on the centre of the tables, Hermione rolling her eyes at him before she too started eating, though it was far more civilised. Harry didn’t say anything about how much Ron always ate on the first few days back to Hogwarts – he never did and neither did Hermione. They both knew how hard it was for his family to eat when it got really bad. 

Harry, unlike Ron, was hesitant to eat any food, worried about throwing it up only minutes later when the memories of last night grew to strong. He put some on his plate anyway, knowing that Hermione would lecture him if he didn’t –and she was too busy worrying about classes already to waste time worrying about him.

Harry hesitantly bit into a piece of toast and let his eyes roam the hall, trying desperately to bring his mind away from the taste of ash on his tongue.

Blue, red, green, yellow and black robes made a clashing sea, sun streaming through the ceiling high windows like tattered ribbons, happy and smiling faces glowing and hair glistening. The aroma of the food filled the hall, making his stomach churn. 

And then there was Malfoy.

_The bloody git._

He was sitting at the Slytherin table, looking as much as of a git as he did last year, surrounded by his friends that were no doubt deciding who to pick on first. Malfoy’s platinum blond hair glowed in the morning sun, skin as pale as it always had been. His robes hung off his body and he looked if he would rather be anywhere else. But Harry noticed something else that perhaps no one else had. 

Malfoy was using a glamour. 

After using them several times when he was younger, when the bruises had gotten really bad – still unable to do a healing spell and not willing to risk fucking it up – he recognised them. His skin crawled as suspicion crawled into his mind like a snake. 

Why the fuck would Malfoy be using a glamour. 

_Would he be hiding a dark mark? Could glamour’s hide dark marks? He would have to ask Hermione – maybe she knew. What if he had already –_

Malfoy flinched.

Harry had been barely paying attention, caught in his thoughts, but he had noticed how Malfoy had reacted to Pansy nudging him in the side. Malfoy had appeared to be lost in thought, staring hard at the table, grey eyes noticeably empty even from afar – until Pansy had been trying to get his attention.

_Did his friends even notice?_

Harry shook off his idiotic concern. He shouldn’t be thinking like that. For merlins sake, he was the person Harry hated the most – of course that wasn’t counting the nose-less bastard that had been after him since day one.

Malfoy nodded at Pansy, giving a quick reply before looking away again and rubbing at his eyes. It was almost as if he were tired, he didn’t look it – but he knew that was because of the glamour – but what had – 

_No, he was being ridiculous._

Harry brought his eyes away from Malfoy, firmly shoving any thought of the boy out of his head and onto the hall’s dirty floor, instead focusing on the so astoundingly interesting table. 

There was a chip in the wood, reminding him of when Ron had shoved a knife into the table after Fred and George had pissed him off – perhaps it was the same one. 

“Harry!” 

His head snapped up at his name, eyes meeting with a slightly irritated Hermione and expectant Ginny.

“Sorry, what?” he asked, looking between the two and frowning.

“Ginny was trying to ask you something,” Hermione said motioning with her hand to Ginny and raising a brow.

“Oh, sorry, what was it, Ginny?” he cringed at how awkward he sounded. 

“I was wondering if you could help me out with some quidditch?” Ginny asked smiling at him, not seeming to mind the fact that he had unintentionally ignored her. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Hermione looking between the two rapidly with tightly gripped hands.

_What was that about?_

“Sure,” he nodded.

The rest of breakfast he spent organizing when to meet with Ginny – Friday before dinner – and listening to his friend’s conversation, speaking only when he had too so he didn’t appear to be totally out of it. 

But he could barely focus when the room was spinning, and the floor was unsteady beneath his tingling feet. His temples ached, the pressure of his own destructive thoughts taking a toll on his sleep deprived body. His stomach whirled as the tornado in his head picked up in speed.

Even though he could see and hear the people around him, part of his mind insisted that this was the dream, they were dead.

His own failure inflicted upon innocents. 

But there was no blood on the benches of the hall, the teachers table hadn’t been crushed under the weight of a fallen giant’s shield, and the windows hadn’t been blown to shards by spells. 

He clung to that realisation like a rope and did not let go - otherwise he would fall deeper into the pit he had woken up in.

A hand at his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts and he spun to see Ron trying to get his attention. 

“We should probably get to class.” Hermione explained, smiling at the further sag of Ron’s shoulders. Grumbling to himself Ron reluctantly stood as the others that were sitting around them did so as well.

He too got up and followed them out, paying attention to where Ron and Hermione were going so he didn’t get left behind. But his was also focused on something else. 

He could feel the eyes that were watching him. It made his skin crawl. He could feel their sharp gaze, and he was sure that if it was turned into a weapon, it would be a knife sharp enough to pierce his skin with the slightest touch. 

The sound of other students making their way into the corridors intensified, their voices striking at his ears with rocks, bringing his mind away from the slowly disappearing sensation.

“You okay, Harry?” Hermione asked, looking at him with too curious eyes as they made their way towards their next lesson. 

“Yeah, just tired,” Harry replied, nodding and smiling in an attempt to reassure Hermione. Her face softened, and she nodded – a sign she believed him, he had found. 

“When I had woken up, Harry was already awake,” Ron said to Hermione, then he looked to Harry. “Makes sense why you’re so bloody tired.”

“It’s not exactly hard to wake up before you,” Hermione quipped in, smiling at the affronted look on Ron’s face.

Harry quietly sighed and tried to pay attention to where he was going. But no matter how hard he tried to keep his mind in the present, it flashed back to that horrid nightmare.

If classes didn’t kill him, the nightmares would. That and the constant threat of insanity and death that would come with the arrival of Voldemort. _Hooray_.

Hermione said a quick goodbye before dashing off to her class, leaving them to walk to what ever class they had. All he knew about it was that it was the same one as Ron.

Bloody hell, he wanted the day to be over and it had practically just begun.


End file.
